Falling
by Guinevere81
Summary: My first story in the five times format. The five times John fell and hurt himself and blamed Sherlock for it, and the one time that outweighed all the others when Sherlock fell and John blamed himself. Obviously referencing Reichenbach which was what sparked this whole thing off.
1. The first time

**1. The first time**

The first time John fell and he blamed Sherlock for it he was in some ways also a little grateful for it.

The morning after the solution to the taxi driver case found him waking up elated but aching. Running like that after months of limping around London with that bloody cane had been liberating. Now however he was paying the price for it. His muscles ached where he had twisted them into new configurations and his leg was genuinely painful to stand on. Yes, of course it was mostly psychosomatic but at one point the wound had been there and with the return of the limp after his return to England his already damaged muscles had begun to atrophy which had not been aided by his unwillingness to actually put weight on them.

Still after the previous evening there was no way that he was going to go back to using that blasted stick. He would not suffer the indignity of Sherlock seeing him resorting to it again, so he forced himself out of bed and tried to make his way down the stairs to the bathroom without it.

With only three steps left his body betrayed him and the leg just buckled under him. He fell bonelessly down the last three steps landing with a resounding thump on the floor beneath the stairs. He lay there for a minute catching his breath and cursing his damn leg as very real pain pulsed from his knee to his hip making him clench his teeth against it.

Sherlock appeared from the living room with a puzzled look on his face. "What happened? Are you okay?" He asked as he crouched down beside his new flatmate.

"Fine!" John spat out as he sat up rubbing at the offending limb.

"Hm…" Sherlock looked thoughtful, "I was right… not entirely psychosomatic, but mostly. You probably should not go cold turkey on that cane of yours" he deduced and stood extending his hand to John.

"Now you're telling me. This is all your fault for making me feel self-conscious about it in the first place." He grumbled as he accepted the hand and stood before limping into the bathroom to search for paracetamol.

Sherlock stood watching him go. He really didn't get sentiment. John had gone from limping constantly to only limping after overexerting himself, all thanks to Sherlock, so what on earth was he blaming him for. He would have thought that thanks would have been in order. Strange things feelings… he would need more data before he could make any deductions about that. With that he left John to his grumbling in the bathroom and returned to the living room and his current experiment.


	2. Pushed

**2. Pushed**

Ok, so the second time he was probably a little grateful as well so it wasn't all that different from the first time.

They had followed the would be burglars to an industrial estate in Bracknell but now they were fairly sure that they had already cleared away from the area. Sherlock was crawling around on the ground in the main loading area deducing boxes and pointing out to John where the van had been parked.

For once it was John who was bored. Since there was no dead body, in fact to this date no victims there had not been much for him to do but to trail along behind Sherlock and feel stupid and useless. He stood on the edge of the loading dock sulking as Sherlock gathered evidence to figure out where they might have gone to next.

"Look out!" Sherlock's shout took him by surprise and he looked up in time to see two things come propelling toward him. A large hook, suspended from the ceiling was pummeling toward them on a sliding beam. John was just about to sidestep the hook when Sherlock stopped him as he came bursting through the air with astounding speed and slammed into John's legs sending him over the edge of the loading dock just before the hook swished past them.

John landed hard on the ground his back and head slamming painfully against the concrete floor. The wind was knocked out of him and he saw stars and cursed his flatmate for being overprotective. If he had just been left alone he could have stepped aside and simply watched the horrible projective swish past him no harm done. But no, Sherlock had to play the hero and now here he was sprawled on his back with spots dancing before his eyes.

He heard feet running away and wondered if Sherlock had given chase to whoever had propelled the hook toward them. Then he didn't have to wonder any more as he found Sherlock crouched above him worried eyes watching him and hands ghosting over his body, probing his neck and head.

"John, can you hear me? Damn you're bleeding. I'm sorry. Are you alright?" Sherlock rambled and John smiled up at him.

"I'm fine" John struggled into a sitting position but winced a little at the pain it caused in his back "Just sore. Help me up will you?" but Sherlock held him down.

"No, you hit your head, look you're bleeding, I'm so sorry" Sherlock argued holding out his hand which was indeed smeared with blood. "I should call an ambulance, you probably have a concussion. I'm sorry I pushed you"

"Sherlock don't panic, I don't have a concussion, and I don't need an ambulance. You did good. Just next time maybe you could limit yourself to just the warning and let me get myself out of the way, it would save me from the indignity of falling on my arse" Since Sherlock still hesitated John pushed himself up by himself and Sherlock followed. "But if you're feeling guilty enough I'll let you take me home and you can get me an ice pack and make me a cup of tea" he added as an afterthought.

Sherlock did indeed take him home and make him both tea and lunch, which was surprisingly edible and John figured that it was not all that bad when Sherlock made him fall and hurt himself if it meant that he was this attentive afterwards.


	3. Experiment

**3. Experiment**

Ok, so the third time he really did mind.

He came downstairs in the morning still dressed in his pyjama bottoms to find a post it note on the doorframe to the living room. 'Left an experiment in the living room, be careful with it'. He sighed inwardly as he made his tea and toast and peered into the living room to search for whatever test tubes or body parts it was that he had to look out for. There was nothing there.

Strange John thought, and headed for his chair. Maybe Sherlock had already removed whatever he had been working with but forgotten to remove the post it. He headed for his chair wondering absently where Sherlock is and what on earth he has been experimenting on at this hour in the morning. Then all of a sudden there is no purchase under his feet.

He flops forward tea and toast sent flying as his chest slams into the wooden chair by the desk and his favourite mug shatters against the edge on the desk. Slumping to the floor he lies stunned, confusion and pain vying for attention in his mind.

Clearly he has found Sherlock's experiment he muses as he lies still assessing the situation. He can hear footsteps on the staircase, not Sherlock's but Mrs Hudson. He must have made enough noise going down to have startled her.

"Boys, what is going on, are you alright?" she asked in concern as she entered the room.

"Don't move Mrs Hudson, stay there." John tries to sound commanding but it comes out as a pained gasp.

"Oh John, what happened? Are you hurt?" she starts to move toward him despite his warning.

"Stop!" he yells struggling to get up and falling back down on the strangely slippery floor. "Sherlock's been experimenting, don't come over here." Lying half on his side on the stupidly slippery floor he wraps and arm around his aching chest and just breaths for a second as he sees Mrs Hudson stop in her tracks looking concerned.

"Oh John, what can I do?" she asks her eyes wide with worry.

John moves to use the wooden chair to heave himself into a sitting position but finds that he not only knocked it over in his fall but has in fact broken it. "Call Sherlock, get him to come home and sort this mess out." He growls as he stretches toward the stuffed chair he had been heading for and with a wince pulls himself up and into it. "I don't intend to move from this spot until he has made it safe to walk across the floor again, and I need to get to work so tell him to hurry" he adds and hears Mrs Hudson disappear.

A couple of minutes later she is back and hovering in the doorway. "He says he's coming. John are you hurt, it sounded awful, is there anything I can do?" his kind landlady would be hovering if she was in fact able to get anywhere near him. "It's ok Mrs Hudson, I'll be fine, though if you could make me some new tea that would be great, I'll be in a rush to get to work by the time I've patched myself up and I seem to have misplaced mine all over the living room floor." John knows that the sarcasm in his voice is really meant for Sherlock and not Mrs Hudson but she is understanding and does not complain, merely heads for the kitchen and puts the kettle on.

It takes Sherlock fourty minutes and three more angry calls from Mrs Hudson before he saunters through the door to the flat and at this point the new tea is cold and John is furious. His anger is not helped by Sherlock's comment as he enters the flat. "What have you done John? I told you to be careful with the experiment, it wasn't ready to be stepped on yet."

"Get me the fuck out of this chair" John fumes turning his head to glare at Sherlock across the room. "And next time you leave me a warning about an experiment you might want to remember to inform me that it is invisible."

Sherlock heads into the kitchen to retrieve a bag of what looks like flour but could be anything and proceeds to spread it across the floor. "Of course it is invisible. Otherwise he would have seen it and he wouldn't have slipped and broken his neck"

"Well neither would I, Sherlock" John is shouting now "There's an experiment in the living room is not the same as I have turned our floor into a death trap"

Sherlock finishes spreading the white powder which seems to sink into the carpet and disappear. He then picks a towel off a pile on the sofa and spreads it on the floor beside John and steps over to stand looking down at his angry friend, looking himself more frustrated than contrite.

A large bruise has blossomed across John's chest in the last fourty minutes and there is a substantial brown stain on his pjama trousers from where he has been pressing his hand against them.

"You hurt yourself?" Sherlock says, worry creasing his brow as he bends to take John's hand into his own noting that a shard from the broken mug is firmly wedged in the soft flesh below John's thumb. John yanks his hand back angrily as he stands and carefully walks away from Sherlock across the towel and toward the bathroom. "No Sherlock, you hurt me, you and your stupid experiment."

He does not speak to Sherlock again as he cleans himself up bandages his hand and heads off to work, aware that he is late and his whole schedule for the day will be thrown off and the patients will get cranky and yell at him.

He is still angry when he comes home but he does find the mess from the morning cleaned up and yet another post it note on the kitchen table. 'I'm sorry. There are no more experiments in the flat'


	4. The bad one

**4. The bad one.**

They ran at a furious pelt up the stairs and after the two murderers, well maybe only one of them was strictly speaking a murderer but the details could be worked out once they were in custody. Which if they could only catch them would be within minutes as Lestrade had already been alerted to their location.

John's chest was heaving as he tried to keep even steps with Sherlock. He was no more than ten seconds behind the great detective when he burst onto the roof but it was enough for Sherlock to have caught up with the assailants and to be grappling with one of them on the ground.

Aiming his gun with a steady hand he yelled out before the other had a chance to come to his friend's aid. "Freeze" he yelled but the suspect did not follow orders instead he pelted for the edge of the roof and with a ballet dancers grace sailed onto the fire escape on the building next to the one they were on.

"I've got this" Sherlock yelled, and he did indeed seem to be gaining the upper hand but John still hesitated. "Go, get him… John don't loose him" Sherlock yelled and John ran toward the edge of the building.

A small voice in the back of his head told him that the kind of graceful jump he had just witnessed was not within his repertoire, that in fact trying to follow the man was a suicide mission but then there was Sherlock's voice and it was so much stronger as it urged him on.

He pushed off the roof with all his might and it was nearly enough. His toes caught on the fire escape but not enough of his foot and he did not find leverage on the metal structure. He grasped for it trying to grab onto something anything. For a fleeting second his left hand slammed against the edge and he thought he would make it but he succeeded only in twisting his body slightly as he fell.

It was not true that when falling from a height time slowed down. John did not have time for his life to flash before his eyes or to formulate coherent thought about what was happening to him. "Shit…" was about as coherent as it got in the few seconds it took for him to plummet the two floors and hit the ground with a sound that was somewhere between a thud and a crack.

He lay utterly stunned, feeling nothing, unable to draw breath or move. The wind had been thoroughly knocked out of him and for long seconds he was not able to do or feel anything.

The first thing to return was the ability to draw breath and he gasped and panted his body instinctively contracting in on itself even though he knew this would not aid his breathing.

Then as oxygen once again coursed through his veins he became aware of the pain. It built gradually. At first it was not much more than the awareness that he was broken. That was the only way he could describe it for at the moment he was not entirely aware of what hurt, just that something was obviously wrong.

Of course, something was wrong… you've just plummeted two floors straight into the asphalt of the alley below, it would be a bloody miracle if nothing was broken, he chastised himself.

Then slowly things became clearer. He was lying on his right side as he had landed in something vaguely resembling a foetal position yet his right leg had not moved with him when he had curled up and in fact now that he realized this he could pinpoint that this was in fact where most of the pain came from. He tried to shift it put this sent agony searing through him and he could not stop himself from crying out in pain. Definitely broken leg, probably the hip to his doctor mind relayed to him but there was something else nagging at his mind… a sound… his name carried on the wind from some distance away. Sherlock must have heard him cry out, that was good, help would come.

John wanted to answer Sherlock, to shout back, ask him to hurry but he didn't have the strength. The pain was slowly increasing, not just his leg either, his entire right side throbbed with it and he wanted nothing more than to take the weight off it. Feebly he pushed at the ground with his left hand trying to push himself onto his back but it only partly succeeded in turning him over while it ripped a tortured scream from his throat that he had never believed himself able to utter.

"Don't move John" Sherlock's voice again, from somewhere nearer, coming around the edge of the alley further away, he must have taken the fire escape on the building they had been on to get to the ground, much more sensible action than hurtling yourself off a roof John thought.

Sherlock was panting as he crouched down next to John a worried look on his face. "An ambulance is on it's way, Christ John why did you do that?" he asked and John felt utterly confused. "Because you told me to…" he mumbled swallowing hard as he blinked up at Sherlock, watching his friends eyes grow dark. John could not read Sherlock's expression, he looked angry, was he angry because John had lost the suspect, because he hadn't been agile enough to reach the fire escape on the other side… that seemed unfair, Sherlock himself had not tried to make the jump when it came to it.

"How bad is it? He's asking John, where are you hurt you have to tell me?" Sherlock asked his face still unreadable but his voice was soft and urgent, and just as when he had hurled himself off that roof John felt himself compelled to do as Sherlock said and forced himself to assess and catalogue his injuries which were then relayed to the person on the other end of the phone Sherlock was clutching to his ear.

"My leg is definitely broken and my hip doesn't feel quite right either. I landed on my right so that whole side is pretty banged up. The arm and chest hurt but not as bad as the leg. I hit my head but I haven't been unconscious. Fuck I wish I was though…" He cursed and now he could read Sherlock's expression, he looked worried.

They stayed there in silence for the eight minutes it took the ambulance to arrive. Sherlock seemed to be brooding even though the worried look on his face did not disappear and John was quite occupied enough with trying to breathe evenly and not actually giving voice to the pain coursing through him with every breath.

When the ambulance arrived he was more than happy to allow them to administer painkillers and sedatives before bundling him off, allowing him to sink off into a numb daze. He was only faintly aware of Sherlock climbing in with him and sitting at his side the whole ride to the hospital.

The next eighteen hours were a strange haze of questions asked and answered, x-rays and scans and fitful sleeping, all the while thoroughly doped up on painkillers until the anaesthesiologist turned up to prep him for surgery on his leg and he was once and for all pulled into complete oblivion.

When he came to again it was to the calm and silence of the recovery room and the feeling of Sherlock's grasp on his arm. He smiled up weakly as Sherlock stood up and his face swam into focus. "So what's the verdict?" he asked, knowing that he had been told bits and pieces before his surgery but unable to really remember.

"You managed to break all three bones in your leg you idiot" The comment was hard but there was no cruelty in his voice, only sadness. "The tibia is broken in two places at that, but the femur is only cracked, not actually a complete fracture. That still makes four injuries to one leg so you have an impressive amount of metal in it right now. Metal detectors will love you." John smiled weakly. "Oh, and you have some very impressive bruising and you also managed to dislocate and get a hairline fracture in your elbow so there won't be any crutches for a few weeks, you will be a royal pain in the arse for the foreseeable future and I'm now going to have to learn how to make tea if I'm to be able to get you out of here." Sherlock grumbled.

John sighed slightly knowing that what Sherlock said was probably true but still relieved that things were not even worse, his pelvis wasn't broken and that had been a major concern, and he didn't have internal bleeding so really he probably should count himself lucky. "You deserve it, he mumbled, you remember this next time you ask me to jump off a building." His eyes were heavy and he was absolutely exhausted but he could have sworn that that unreadable black expression flashed across Sherlock's face once more before he gave in to sleep.


	5. And crutches don't really help

**5. And crutches don't really help with falling**

After a week in hospital and another three sat around the flat with a cast on his arm that prevented him from using crutches John is going round the bend. It isn't the boredom that is getting to him so much as the embarrassment of having to rely on Sherlock and Mrs Hudson for absolutely everything. That and the fact that Sherlock is acting decidedly weird.

Sherlock still makes appalling tea and can't cook anything edible, he still plays the violin at all hours and set up strange experiments all over the flat to keep himself entertained. He is still extremely rude and annoying, that has not changed, but he has taken to apologising for everything.

Every time John complains about something that Sherlock is doing he will receive a genuine sounding "Sorry!" in reply and Sherlock will cease whatever he is doing and find something else to do which is almost always even more annoying.

It had started with Sherlock apologising every time he hurt John in those first weeks when basically moving unavoidably meant being lifted and being lifted unavoidably meant pain. Every time John hissed in pain at being manhandled Sherlock would apologise and soon this began to extend to other things as well, from making too much noise to making rude deductions.

At first it had been nice to see that Sherlock was able to express regret at causing his friend pain but after three weeks the novelty had worn off and it was now simply annoying. Mostly it was frustrating because it meant that John had no outlet for his mounting frustration. He could not be angry at Sherlock when Sherlock kept apologising for everything.

So instead of being angry at Sherlock for not doing the dishes, or for blowing up the kettle he found that he was just angry. Angry at the situation he was in, of the constant embarrassment when he couldn't wash himself, couldn't get to the bathroom on his own or make himself a cup of tea.

He honestly thought things would get better once he was allowed to use the crutches but they didn't. Everyone still hovered, he still hurt and Sherlock still apologised for everything. It was inevitable that sooner or later he was going to snap.

Already that morning Sherlock had burnt the last bread while trying to make toast for John's breakfast and refusing to let John do it himself. He had refused to take the case Lestrade had brought him because John might need him, even though John had tried to assure him that he would be fine in the flat by himself. He had apologised profusely over burning a hole in John's favourite pair of jeans because he had left the laundry lying around on the kitchen table while performing an experiment including large amounts of acid. On top of this John was thoroughly bored and neither reading nor the television was providing adequate distraction from the ache in his leg.

He wished nothing more than to be able to stomp out of the flat and slam the door behind him, to walk until his frustration abated. That however was not going to happen so he decided he would content himself with at least going to the toilet all by himself. He forced himself up from the chair and made for the bathroom with solid determination but of course, with his usual luck things did not go as planned.

His movements were too rushed and his attention not on where he was putting the crutches. One of them landed on a discarded magazine and slipped away from under him. He tried to compensate and put weight on his broken leg making him yelp in pain but it didn't stop him from tumbling to the side slamming into the coffee table and crumbling to the floor in a tangled mess of legs, arms and crutches.

Sherlock was at his side instantly crouching down beside him. "God John, are you Alright?" Sherlock ran his hands carefully over his friend's body searching for new injuries.

"No I'm not bloody alright. I'm bored out of my mind, I'm in pain, I can't do anything for myself and what little I can do I'm not allowed to because you all treat me like I'm going to break if I so much as move" John shouted as he struggled into a sitting position. "You're driving me mad Sherlock, and really if you care so much about me not getting hurt why do you leave things lying around for me to trip over because now I'm going to have even more damn bruises because you're too lazy to pick up your crap" He knew he was being cruel but right now he didn't care, he just wanted to vent.

"I'm sorry John. I didn't… I don't read magazines but I'm sorry John" Sherlock looked at him with pleading eyes and it dawned on John with painful clarity… Sherlock hadn't left that magazine there, he had, just that morning. He'd accidentally swept it off his the sidetable by his chair and knowing that he wouldn't be able to bend and pick it up he had left it. He was yelling at and insulting his best friend over something he had done himself and Sherlock bloody Holmes was just taking it, apologising again.

The anger seemed to morph into guilt in a flash and John felt tears well up in his eyes. "Christ Sherlock, stop apologising, I'm the one who should be apologising, you haven't done anything wrong. Just please stop saying you're sorry all the time." The tears overflowed and trickled down his cheeks blurring Sherlock's confused face.

"But I am sorry, you keep getting hurt and it's my fault. You said so yourself." Sherlock stated calmly making John cringe inwardly.

"I was wrong. You don't get me hurt, I do. I want to get in all of those crazy situations, I was miserable before I met you. The odd bruise or broken bone is well worth it Sherlock so promise me that you will stop apologising for everything all the time because you have nothing to be sorry about" John felt horrible, not just physically but emotionally as well. How could he possibly have blamed Sherlock for getting him into trouble, if anything it was the other way around, he was the adrenaline junky not Sherlock.

"Ok."Sherlock responded and looked quizzically at John "Am I allowed to ask you if you need help getting up though?" he asked and John laughed.

"Yes, that would be good, the help I mean." John said rubbing his face in embarrassment at his earlier tears. The painkillers were clearly making him far too emotional.

Sherlock hauled him to his feet and handed him his crutches before returning to the experiment in the kitchen.

When John returned from the bathroom ten minutes later he was still there, observing his testtube as the liquid in it slowly changed colour. "Tea John." He said and for the first time in over a month it wasn't a question but a demand and it was the best kind of apology John had ever heard.


	6. Sherlock's fall

**1. Sherlock's fall**

John was angry, fuming in fact over Sherlock's lack of concern for his fellow human beings, but more than anything he was desperately worried about Mrs Hudson. He wanted to go straight to the hospital but the woman on the phone had asked him to pick up Mrs Hudson's ID and make a list of what medications she was taking so he would have to stop off at Baker Street first.

When he burst through the door and found Mrs Hudson, as healthy as ever, along with a very beefy handyman. "Is everything okay now with the police? Has Sherlock sorted it all out?" Mrs Hudson asked kindly and he felt first surprise and then cold dread.

How could he have been so stupid? Sherlock had seen through it straight away of course, and once again John had insulted his best friend because he himself had been to stupid to realise what was going on.

He had to admit that he still didn't know what was going on. All he knew was that someone, most likely Moriarty, had wanted to get him far away from St Bart's as possible and now he had to get back. He had do undo what he had just said to Sherlock. He had to make sure that he had not just made a monumental mistake by abandoning him now that things were so messed up.

His phone rang just as he was getting out of the taxi and he answered it with a brief "Hello?"

"John." Sherlock's voice sounded strange, hesitant, much more unsure than John was used to hearing it.

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" It was a relief to hear his friend's voice but it did not stop his heart from beating heavily with barely concealed fear.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came" Sherlock ordered him but John was not in the mood for games.

"No I'm coming in" he headed firmly toward the hospital building.

"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock sounded almost panicked and John froze in his steps and looked around to where the taxi was just pulling away.

"Where?" there was no immediate response from Sherlock and John hesitantly began to retrace his steps.

"Stop there." That strange urgency and sadness in Sherlock's voice was terrifying, and how was it that he was able to see what John was doing, was he at the window?

"Sherlock?" John questioned, thoroughly confused.

"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." Sherlock sounded fairly calm but his words sent cold dread through John's chest as he turned around and spotted Sherlock standing on the very edge of the roof looking down on him.

"Oh God." John didn't know what else to say.

"I… I can't come down , so we'll… we'll just have to do it like this" Sherlock sounded sad, his voice was strained as though he was crying or about to cry. It was a terrifying sound.

"What's going on?" John tried feebly, hoping against hope that there was some perfectly reasonable explanation for why Sherlock was currently standing at the edge of a roof crying. A reason that did not involve John having just pushed him one step to far with all of his unfounded accusations.

"An aplology. It's all true"

Ok, that was not what John had been expecting. "Wha… what?" he asked in utter confusion.

"Everything they said about me" Sherlock continued "I invented Moriarty" John feels his stomach clench and a desperate mantra of no, no, no, no.. kept repeating in the back of his mind.

"Why are you saying this?" he questioned, trying to stay calm and not let the panic he was feeling show in his voice.

"I'm a fake" Sherlock sounds every bit as sad and frightened as John fels.

"Sherlock…" he trails off, he doesn't have the words to say what he wants to say. He doesn't even quite know what he wants to say, just that somehow he has to stop this. He needs to get Sherlock off that roof and make sure that he never has to hear his best friend sound this sad and defeated again.

"The newspapers were right all along" Sherlock continues and John has no doubt now that the great detective is crying and it makes him want to wrap him up in his arms and hold on for dear life, somehow make things better. "I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly. In fact tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes."

"okay, shut up, Sherlock Shut up." John wants to be angry with Sherlock for saying such obviously stupid things, for trying to lie to him but he can't, what with the fear, and the guilt and the sadness swirling around in his chest there is no room for anger. "The first time we met… The first time we met, you knew all about my sister right?" Logic, that is what will work on Sherlock, it has always been his forte.

"Nobody could be that clever"

"You could" John says and is rewarded with a small amused laugh from Sherlock.

"I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you" John closes his eyes trying to slow his breathing as he hears the sound of Sherlock almost sobbing as he draws breath on the other end "It's a trick, just a magic trick" John silently shakes his head, no, no, no.

"Alright stop it now." He means it for his own reeling mind as much as for Sherlock. Someone please put a stop to this. Well, there is no one else and he stumbles into action moving toward the building in front of him.

"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move" Sherlock sounds so frantic that John can't help but obey.

"Alright" John backs up unconsciously reaching out toward Sherlock who mirrors the movement from above.

"Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?" Sherlock sounds so desperate it breaks John's heart to hear it.

"Do what?" he asks and he dreads to hear the answer.

"This phone call… it's, erh ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they… leave a note?" John feels the panic pick up a notch and he helplessly shakes his head.

"Leave a note when?" he's playing dumb now. He knows exactly what Sherlock means but he is not willing to entertain the idea. He has to stall, to somehow find the words to talk Sherlock down off that ledge.

"Goodbye John." Sherlock's words are disturbingly final.

"No don't" John shakes his head again as eyes locked on the dramatic vision of Sherlock on the roof, coat billowing slightly in the breeze. Then he drops his phone behind him and stretches his arms out to the sides in a pose that looks almost religious and tilts forward.

"No… SHERLOCK!" John screams as he watches his best friend list forward over the edge and with flailing arms tumble toward the ground. John's head goes entirely blank He hears the sickening thud of the body impacting with the ground and he lurches forward.

As he rounds the ambulance bay Sherlock comes into view and John freezes to the spot unable to move for a second as he watches the still body on the ground.

Suddenly he is hit hard from behind and he finds his own body slamming into the ground, head impacting hard against the asphalt. For a second he thinks he's going to pass out but his body is so sated with adrenaline that after a few seconds of blinking away the spots dancing before his eyes he is able to push himself up and continue toward the crowd gathering around Sherlock.

He tries to formulate his friend's name, to call out to him but it comes out as nothing more than a whisper. "I'm a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through please" he tries to push his way through the onlookers but they keep holding him back. His vision swims before him and he's not sure if it's from the shock or the blow to the head, he doesn't care.

Sherlock is lying on the ground with a large pool of blood around his head and John has eyes for nothing and no one else. "No," he struggles against the hands holding him back "He's my friend Please" he manages to push himself forward enough to grasp Sherlock's wrist and check for a pulse.

There is nothing, not the tiniest flutter and as he notes the absence of a heartbeat his own seems to stop in his chest. His legs buckle under him and he slumps to the ground "Jesus, no… God no"

In no time at all Sherlock is wheeled away from him and with that the crowd begin to disperse. Finally John is able to struggle back to his feet where he stands swaying swatting away the hands of the concerned people around him.

He just stands there, shell shocked unable to move. What has he done. "You machine…" the words echo in the back of his mind. "Sod this… Friends protect people" but he hadn't. He had abandoned Sherlock and now he is dead.

It plays over and over in his head, all the times when he has blamed Sherlock for things in his life going wrong, for getting hurt, and now the roles are reversed. He had told Sherlock that he deserved whatever discomfort he got from John having fallen from that roof. Now Sherlock had fallen and this time there had been a lot more floors, a much harder impact and what had not been true of Sherlock then was certainly true of John now. He deserved all the pain he felt at loosing his best friend, he deserved it because instead of giving Sherlock something to live for he had turned his back on him, walked away, not trusted his judgement and in his absence, with the last words he's spoken to the man being cruel insults Sherlock had decided that he had had enough.

John's heart pounded in his chest and he found himself unable to focus his eyes. As the world tilted and his knees hit the ground once again unconsciousness slipping away he prayed in a complete reversal of his earlier request "Please God, just let me die as well"


End file.
